


Happy Solstice, Word Bearers!

by WahlBuilder



Series: Scarves and Mittens [18]
Category: Horus Heresy - Various Authors, Warhammer 40.000
Genre: Astartes traditions, Gen, Winter Solstice
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-12-31
Updated: 2016-12-31
Packaged: 2018-09-13 17:49:54
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 856
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9134692
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/WahlBuilder/pseuds/WahlBuilder
Summary: A little insight into how Winter Solstice is celebrated onFidelitas Lex.





	

**Author's Note:**

  * For [kishiriaz](https://archiveofourown.org/users/kishiriaz/gifts).



> Lorgar/Roboute is implied because I'm trash.

‘I don’t think I’m doing it right.’ Uriel sighed and stared at the nest of branches. They were sticking into every direction, and most of the long needles were bent and crooked, and although it had let the energising aroma out, it destroyed the looks of the wreath. Or what was supposed to be a wreath.

Uriel sighed again and looked at the Word Bearer. The wreath in Saraqael’s hands was almost complete, only requiring, as per instructions given to Uriel, fresh red berries. It was neat, small in the Astartes’s hands, and looked fluffy. Undoubtedly, it would hold for days and days.

Saraqael wraps a golden thread around the fir branches and needles, hid the ends inside the branches, and threw a look at the abomination in Uriel’s hands. ‘You can’t expect to make everything without mistakes at the first time, right, sister?’

Uriel sighed the third time. ‘I’m sorry. I’m of no help to you.’

The Word Bearer laughed and took the nest of broken needles and branches out of Uriel’s hands. ‘Your fingers must be tired from this unusual work. Have a rest and tell me how you celebrate the end of the year.’

Watching Saraqael work on the wreaths was pleasant, and Uriel, flexing her fingers, sat back on the stool, her eyes on her sister’s clever hands. Meanwhile Saraqael chose a few branches with big bright-red berries and added them to her wreath.

‘We’d have finished decorating the halls by now with all sorts of cloth, and would be applying make-up to each other’s faces. And some of us would have, no doubt, arranged a few pranks.’ She smiled, thinking about a few she had participated in herself. That one with a bucketful of gel was hilarious, if simple.

Saraqael finished with the berries and put the wreath aside, then picked another batch of branches, and began a new decoration. ‘The Raven Guard has a masquerade, and the Alphas play jokes on each other, too. It’s fascinating, how actually alike we all are, isn’t it?’

Uriel rocked on her stool, holding onto the edge of the seat. ‘Aren’t you upset that we are stuck here with you?’

‘I’m glad you’re here, you and your kin,’ Saraqael replied, the wreath already half-way finished. ‘It’s a time to be with one’s family, and what are you if not our family? And we have an opportunity to learn more about each other.’ She added some berry to this wreath, too, then gathered fifty or so of those she had made.

Uriel hastened to scoop up all the remaining ones.

Saraqael turned to her and smiled, kohled eyes huge and wet. ‘Now we decorate our part of _Fidelitas Lex_.’

It didn’t take much time for them to complete the task, because ‘their part’ was the engine rooms, and the Technoadepts helped them with this joyous duty. But when they finished, it was almost the time for the feast. They returned to Saraqael’s cell where they put on white tunics, and Saraqael renewed her kohl. Uriel asked for some herself, unable to tear her eyes away from Saraqael’s face, and the Ultramarine had to bite her lips to stay still as her sister, wearing a most innocent smile, pencilled her eyes with gentle movements.

After that Uriel found out that Saraqael’s lips taste like sweet grapes.

When they turned the last corner on their way to the Great Hall, the lights went off, and Uriel had to hold onto Saraqael’s hand and trust the Word Bearer to lead them the right way, while trying to not lose a taper she was carrying.

It was no doubt that they reached their destination when Uriel saw the light and couldn’t hold back a gasp.

The whole Great Hall—as all of the ship—was dark except for this one point of light, a candle flame so small, but steady and strong and bright in the darkness. It illuminated Lorgar’s serene face, his closed eyelids, painted with gold, his golden lips—a merciful, peaceful smile. The candle flame swayed ever so slightly from the Primarch’s breathing, but didn’t die.

The silence was alive with breathing of many others, and although Uriel couldn’t see anyone but the golden Primarch, she could feels their presence—Astartes, mortals, Mechanicum, the ship and machine-spirits… Somewhere to Lorgar’s right, Uriel knew, stood her father, united in this moment with everyone else.

Saraqael’s hand held Uriel’s tight.

And as their breathing synchronised, as the hundreds of hearts started beating in one rhythm, Lorgar’s smile widened, he opened his eyes and, Uriel thought, looked right into her hearts and into the hearts of everyone in the room, and the candle flame became brighter, brighter, fighting the darkness, winning Lorgar’s whole body from it, then Guilliman’s near him, then the nearest Astartes and mortals that stood around them, the columns, the gathered people—and like one, they held up their tapers and reached out to the burning golden flame, and Uriel held up hers, and the circle of light surrounded and washed over them all.

And all the tapers lit up.

And it was light and joy.


End file.
